


Paper Faces

by AnonymousMink



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood Bond, Carol is tired, Dancing, F/M, Fancy Dress, Kree Politics, Masks, Masquerade, Mistaken Identity, Obsession, Prompt Fic, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, UST, Yon is freaking out, Yonvers - Freeform, and Ronan is just weirdly DTF, clueless ronan, i make a lot of shit up about the kree, tradition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-18 10:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19332364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousMink/pseuds/AnonymousMink
Summary: Carol had faced a lot of missions since becoming Captain Marvel but this may well be her most difficult yet. There’s no punching her way out of an undercover mission at the heart of the elite Kree society.No. She has to be subtle. Calm. Armed with nothing more than a smile and a prayer, she has until midnight to steal a file that could save a million Skrulls and get the hell out of there.It should be easy. It’s not like anyone she knows could be there, lurking behind an unfamiliar mask, right?... right?





	1. Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DenseHumboldt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenseHumboldt/gifts).



> When the incomparable DenseHumboldt prompts you to write a fic, you write it. And then you say thank you. And send her a fruit basket (so long as it doesn’t contain cantaloupes.)
> 
> Especially when she prompts you with your number 1 top trope of all media in all times ever 💜
> 
> I really hope you like it, party people! Long live Yonvers! 🥰

 

“Why am I doing this again?” Carol asked, trying not to fidget and failing, “isn’t this your whole… thing? Pretending to be someone else?”

Talos gasped, clutching his chest in horror as he spun his chair around to stare at her, “how dare you! Are you saying my people are naturally sneaky? That’s prejudice that is!”

“Really?” She hitched an eyebrow at him, fingers flexing as she fought the urge to itch her side where the fabric bunched against her skin. Whoever designed this thing should have a side line in torture devices, it would probably pay better.

“Nah,” Talos laughed, a full belly sound as he pointed a finger at her, “shoulda seen your face though. This is gonna need some next level Kree experience to pass, I can look like one, I can talk like one, but you actually lived with the bastards.”

Bitterness washed through her mouth at the reminder, her mind trying to slam up its walls even as she was forced to acknowledge the truth of it. She hadn’t just lived with them, she’d been one of them. The six longest, clearest years of her life, years with purpose and friends and _belief_ , and it had all been a sick, twisted lie.

One it was easier to just _forget_.

Swallowing hard she fixed Talos with a glare, shoving the memories back where they belonged in her subconscious, “chicken.”

”I can transform into one of them you know,” he said, “a bloody huge one and peck your eyes out.”

“No fighting children,” Soren sighed, a tray balanced on her swollen belly as she edged into the room, “Carol, you look beautiful.”

“I _feel_ like an fucking idiot.” Relief flooded her at the change in conversation, nearly tripping over her hem as she turned towards Soren.

The dress was not something she’d ever have thought to wear, a gauzy peach confection of silk and organza. It had stars embroidered down the skirt and an ornate butterfly wing covering the bodice from hip to shoulder.

Sure it was lovely, visually at least, but it wasn’t exactly practical.

“Language,” Soren scolded her with a grin, “I don’t want little Carol learning those words until she’s at least oh... five or six.”

“How is she?” Carol asked, a smile warming her face as she took the tray from Soren and placed it on the side.

“A fighter,” Soren laughed, “not that I’d expect anything less, even if I do wish she’d stop kicking me in the bladder every five minutes. Now, look - I installed the emergency beacon here.”

Soren picked an ornate mask up from the tray and pointed. It was a deceptively fragile thing, gold filigree on top of a soft cream base, but Carol would bet good money that it could survive a blast from  close range. She’d never met a tech better than Soren in all her years, the woman was an artist.

“This one is for your dress,” she pinned the little brooch to the inside of the bust line, slapping Carol’s hand away as she moved to fiddle with it, “leave it, the dress is sitting just where it should be.”

“Right until I fall out of it,” Carol grumbled, bending her head diligently as Soren waved the mask at her.

“That’s one way of distracting the party,” Talos cackled from his seat, popping a puff of roasted jahcorn into his mouth.

“I will blast you in front of your wife and unborn child,” Carol shot back, wincing as Soren carefully pinned the mask into her hair. She was straightening up when a little blue light flickered to life in the corner of her vision, “woah, did you put a scanner in this thing too?”

“Only the best,” she grinned, turning Carol back around and adjusting the straps of her dress carefully, “there, perfect. See?”

Carol shifted uncomfortably as she was pushed in front of a mirror. She didn’t look like herself, all dressed up in pale gold and peach and glitter. She looked soft, delicate, a porcelain doll in constant danger of being dropped.

She didn’t like it.

“I thought the butterfly was particularly fitting,” Soren smiled over her shoulder, smoothing her hands over Carol’s arms in an attempt to get her to straighten up, “they are such fascinating creatures, emerging from their chrysalis as something entirely new. Something strong and beautiful.”

“I think I’m gonna cry,” Talos piped up from the corner, making Soren scowl and Carol laugh, “can we get on with this please?”

“Yes,” she said too quickly, “please. The sooner we get this over with the better. Infiltrating an Imperial Kree ball is not what I want to be doing with my weekend.”

“Just get the file, Carol,” Talos said, hauling himself to his feet with a sigh, “and get back, safe.”

“Aww Talos, I never knew you cared.”

“Just go already.”

Carol laughed, pulling at her skirts as she headed for the covert ship she’d be using for the mission, “with pleasure.”

If fate was kind this whole nightmare would be done with before sunrise, it wasn’t like she fight the whole empire after all. Just go in, get the file, and get out again.

How hard could it be?

 

—-

 

“Why am I doing this again?” Yon asked, nose wrinkling as he plucked at the ornate doublet the servants had left out for him. It was black satin, white ribs picked out in lush embroidery over the chest, coiled with flowers and gems.

It was about as practical as a knife in a blaster fight, far too soft against his skin as he shifted uncomfortably in place. He was used to armour, compression shirts and reinforced fabrics, a uniform that had become more like a second skin to him.

This… this was _weakness_.

“Because I’m on Hala and the house of Rogg needs representing at the Ver’ul Saida,” his brothers voice crackled through the comms, his expression tired and distant, “Besides, it's past time you made a good match.”

Yon’s stomach dropped at the reminder, Xe was communing with the SI, preparing for a mission so vital to the Empire it couldn’t be spoken of. Even to him. And Yon was dressed up like a fop being forced to make conversation with the soft lords and ladies of Kree high society.

He was no longer fit for service, for battle, a disgraced warrior whose only use now was to serve as a stud for his family name. To breed a more worthy generation.

He disgusted himself.

He would rather have taken vows with the Silent Brothers than this, but it seemed he wasn’t fit even for that. No, the SI had sent him home in disgrace.

A punishment worse than death to a soldier.

“Try not to look so dour,” Xe scolded, the spectre shaking its head at him with a familiar look of disappointment, “this is your duty now, little brother. For the good of our family, for the good of all Kree.”

“For the good of all Kree,” he muttered, flicking the comms off and turning away. The words were hollow in his mouth, a shadow of a belief that had once vibrated inside every cell of his being.

Picking his mask up from the side he fought the urge to crush it in his hand. A flimsy half skull, it was ironic really that he would walk as noble death tonight considering he was no longer fit to give his life in service to the Empire.  

His Empire.

He wasn’t even sure he could claim ownership of it anymore, cut off from everything he’d thought he’d known.

His faith was shaken.

Of course he’s tried, pushing harder than ever after his return to Hala. He had sworn and begged and pleaded with the SI to let him fight but they had seen right through him. And worse, they had worn his own weakness like a mask, the unfamiliar-familiarity of his own face twisting into something else.

Into _her_.

A corruption of her at least, with silver hair and cold green eyes.

She was the reason he was here, the reason he’d lost everything. And the reason he could never pick one of the high-blood women from the crowd and make her his wife.

 

—-

 

Ronan knew exactly why he was doing this.

It was tradition.

The Ver’ul Saida was an ancient rite, a great celebration held on the newest planet in the Empire every six cycles. It was a way of blessing it with high Kree culture and inspiring a new era of prosperity and fruitfulness in it’s wake.

The newly built Palace of Leithon would see a dozen new unions before the sun rose tomorrow, fresh ties made between the great houses of the Kree. His own father had chosen his mother at just such an event himself. The elaborate disguises meant to prove that it was blood heat and not bloodlines that determined a match, even if they were all of a suitably high status.

The houses would remain strong and the empire would thrive.

Despite having no interest in such a permanent union himself he attended whenever he could, although his missions made such visits few and far between. This was the first Ver’ul Saida he’d seen in two decades, so it was only fitting that he made the effort with it.

He held himself straight and tall as his servants dressed him, clipping on the heavy black armour and Wulfrin-skin cloak.

He’d slayed it himself, many years ago now as a boy, his last trip with his father before he left for the academy. It was an ancient ritual in his noble house, the chance to prove you were a worthy successor to the blood line.

Wulfrin were the most dangerous creatures on Hala, living only in the densest, darkest forests at the edge of civilisation. They were renowned for their strength, their ferocity, the greatest hunters on the face of the planet.

Except for the Kree of course.

Except for him.

He had run the beast through with his blade, it’s black blood staining his skin for weeks afterwards. His father had nodded at him when he bore it back to camp, the closest he had come to pride in all of Ronan’s memories.

That was before his murder of course.

“Master Ronan,” one of the servants said, head bowed respectfully as he held up the mask. A perfect recreation of the beast’s face right down to its twisting horns and sharp fangs.

He lifted it, forcing the pulsing darkness back beneath his skin as he raised it to his face. There would be time for vengeance, time to slaughter his every enemy like he’d slaughtered the Wulfrin. The Xandarians, the Skrulls, he would stain his skin with all of their blood.

But not tonight, tonight was not for avenging the dead but honouring their ways. Reminding the good Lords of the kree that he was a hunter still, and that the old ways were still the strongest.

  
  



	2. Eye of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! Thank you so much for the warm reception for the first chapter - I seriously cannot tell you how much it means to me 💜 You are the kindest and sweetest of readers and I love each and every one of you!

 

Heat bore in from all sides, the sticky humidity clinging to her skin with the scent of flowers. They covered every spare inch with them, braiding them in twisting swathes across the walls and ceiling, leirblooms for conquest, darroses for tradition, nun’s breath for peace.

She could taste their heavy perfume on her tongue as she drew breath, sticking in her throat as she passed through the swirling crowds. A dizzying world of paper fine silks and ornate metalwork, every face a twisted stranger as she hunted for her mark in the crush.

She just had to make it to midnight, that was all.

Get the file, get out, get to the extraction point. 

Gritting her teeth she pulled the image of Hanahr, The Minister of Anti-Kree Affairs, up behind her eyes. He had been off world collecting reports of every suspected Skrull colony on this side of the galaxy, a report he was scheduled to deliver on Halas the moment the party ended.

This was her only chance to get it first without destroying it, and with it the hopes of who-knew how many Skrulls of salvation. 

If that meant she had to buck the fuck up and deal with it, then damnit she would deal with it. No matter how weird and vulnerable and out of place she felt in the crush.

She’d never been comfortable in these situations, even when she believed herself to be one of them. She was a warrior, and a common one at that, certainly  _ not _ a member of their lauded Elite. It certainly wasn’t like  _ she’d _ ever made the invite list for the Ver’ul Saida before. 

Although… although Yon had.

Just thinking his name made something inside her twinge, an old wound that never fully healed. One she picked at it in the darkest hours of the night and during  _ really _ inconvenient missions. Like this one.

She’d been sitting in his quarters when he’d gotten the last invite. Hunched over at his table, drinking his caf like it was her own as the sun broke over the city beyond the window. He’d picked up the message with a shudder, nose wrinkling as he read it before discarding it entirely.

There was no way she was going to let it go, far too curious about what had caused such an uncharacteristic reaction in her usually fearless commander. So she made him explain it,  _ all _ of it, wheedling at him with her sad-faced-amnesiac routine until he’d given in with a chagrined smile.

She’d listened eagerly to it all, the symbolism, the fancy costumes, the sudden flux of marriages that inevitably followed.

“Aw what’s wrong Commander?” She’d joked, tucking her feet up under her with a teasing grin, “don’t wanna catch yourself a nice fancy wife?”

He’d fixed her with a look so intense it stopped the air to her lungs.

“I have a wife.”

The conviction on his face silenced her, her eyebrows shooting up as she struggled to think through the shock, the sudden spasm of disappointment that rocked her stomach.

“You… kept that quiet,” she’d tried to joke but she could taste something bitter on her tongue.

He had just huffed out a sigh, shaking his head at her as he snatched her bottle away and took it for himself, “the  _ mission  _ is my wife.”

“Oh,” she’d been so relieved that she started laughing, earning a good natured eye roll as she leaned forward across the table to snag her drink back, “and I’m sure it keeps you plenty warm at night too.”

“Like I have time to sleep with you bothering me all hours of the night and day.”

She could still see his indulgent smile if she closed her eyes now, hear the warmth in his voice when he spoke to her. 

Someone jostled her, snapping her back into the present with a jolt. The memory was a good thing, she told herself, it was a reminder there would be no chance that she would see her former commander here tonight. He’d made it clear he’d rather die than attend one of these ‘wasteful affairs’ after all.

It meant things would be  _ easier. _

She just had to get the file without anyone noticing, switch it with the one Soren had stashed in her bracelets and send the Kree on a wild goose chase for good measure.

Easy,  _ right _ ?

 

—-

 

This was worse than any battlefield.

Yon knew who he was fighting then, what side his enemies were on and how they would attack. This was another world entirely, one full of thinly veiled barbs in sweet voices and sharp looks. One where one wrong word could condemn him far quicker than any missed shot could.

His skin crawled beneath the silk. He would never be used to its softness, of the bone-deep vulnerability that came with facing the world without his armour. If only his mask was bigger, hid more, as it was there was still too much of him still exposed beneath its skeletal grin.

A domino smiled at him, her eyelashes fluttering against the rich blue of her cheek as she passed. His jaw clenched, stomach churning as he looked away.

His brother didn’t understand, there was a reason he had always rejected the invite. Marriage, children, it was one duty Yon could never fulfil. He would fight for them, die for them, but his heart, his  _ blood,  _ already belonged to another. He had given it freely and fully with no hope of seeing it returned.

She had become an ever present spectre in his life, a filter he couldn’t help but run his every thought through. What would Vers think? What would she say? He’d tried to cast her out of him, exorcise her ghost with punishing exercise and prayer, but there was no escape.

He would never be free of her.

Even now he found himself searching for her, gaze snapping to every golden head in the crowd. It didn’t matter that it was utterly futile and more than a little ridiculous, he looked anyway.

He searched the sea of blue, heart stuttering every time he caught sight of a blonde in the crowd. Falling into their orbits until he could get close enough for the illusion to break. One too tall, another too short. He found himself shadowing another, a slight figure in a peach silk gown.

Tightness pulled at his chest, skin prickling as he pushed through the crowd towards her. Her height was exact, carrying herself like a soldier through the crush. Her shoulders held tense like she wasn’t used to wearing a dress.

Her hands clenched at her sides, fists tightening as she was body checked by a stranger. His blood rose, pulsing like an engine as he stalked after her. Needing to see more. To see her face.

To break the illusion and crush the dangerous longing it awoke in him.

 

—-

 

The good news was that she'd finally spotted Hanahr.

The bad news was that, no matter what she did, she  _ still _ hadn’t been able to get close enough to make the switch.

It seemed like every time she moved to follow him someone would cut in her way or turn her around. Her fists ached with the urge to blast them all away and have done with it.

_ Control _ .

She had to be in control.

She’d figured they’d ignore her, knowing the upper classes distaste for anyone less than perfectly blue, but she was mistaken. More than a few people trying to strike up a conversation as she ground her teeth and smiled through the twinge in her jaw.

Seeing an opening at the edge of the room she hurled herself towards it, struggling to regain her breath as she found a better vantage point. She snatched a glass of something pink and alcoholic from a passing krylorian waitress, sucking it down in a single mouthful as she tried to centre herself.

Hanahr was visible now, moving down the line of an old Kree dance as the musicians played on. If she wanted to get close to him this was her chance.

Even if it did mean  _ dancing _ . 

Dancing… something else Yon had taught her.

Her stomach clenched, the drink rising in her throat and coating her tongue with its sickly sweet flavour. She’d laughed in his face when he’d suggested it, cackling like a witch as he stood there, the usual exasperated expression painted on his face as he waited for her to stop.

When she’d finally straightened up he’d gestured her into position. She had to relearn her own body as well as her heritage, he’d said bowing before her hand ever so slightly mockingly, and nothing helped with fluidity of movement than a good, traditional dance. 

It had rapidly become the highlight of their sessions for her, following her into her dreams for  _ years  _ afterwards. The scent of him, plain soap and sweat, the warmth of his hand against her back. So close they were sharing oxygen.

The glass cracked in her hand, pain lancing through her as she jerked to attention. Shit. She had to focus. Casting the memories aside she let just enough of her power through the heal her hand, hiding the broken glass on the windowsill and trying to discreetly wipe the blood from her palm on the curtain. 

If she was lucky no one would notice, but luck could only take her so far.

And hers had just run out.

She froze, pulling back on instinct as she caught sight of him through the crowd. Not the minister. Not him at all.

_ Yon. _

It was like she’d summoned him, the weight of her memories taking shape, the ever present ghost of him solidifying into reality at last.

Even behind the mask she knew it was him, intimately familiar with every gesture, every sigh, the breadth of his shoulders and turn of his mouth. Even if she was blindfolded, she’d know.

Her heart stuttered, cold sweat beading along her spine as she tried to swallow. Tried to  _ think.  _ Hands tightening as she spun on her heel and dove towards the dance floor.

She had to get to her target now, before Yon noticed her. Talos was relying on her, his people were relying on her. 

She stumbled, the world going into slow motion as she tripped over the stupid impractical fabric of her skirt, tilting off axis as the floor rushed up towards her. Hands caught her, pulling her up at the last minute and righting her. Strong and steady as she gasped.

Her breath caught, chest squeezing as she looked up and up and up.

_ “Ronan.” _

 

 

 


	3. Burning Glances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive shout out to DenseHumboldt for holding my hand through this chapter and stopping me from having my usual fic break downs - she is the best and sweetest of people AND it’s her birthday on Monday! Everyone go and read her beautiful stories (ha like you’re not already right?) and wish her a happy buffday! 💜💜💜

 

 

Ronan couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so utterly at his leisure. It was a strange feeling. Every day was a mission for him, it had a meaning, the gaps between his official work filled with  _ her. _

The weapon.

He had spent every free moment studying her like an art form. Grainy images of golden hair and peach-soft skin, so delicate considering the power that filled her like the sun. He was fascinated by her. That this single lone figure had been given the ability to right all the wrongs the Kree had suffered, to set things back into balance and punish the unworthy. 

If only she had had someone worthy to wield her.

The thought consumed him.

Perhaps that was why he found his eyes drifting after the stranger as she crossed his orbit, her yellow hair catching the candles glow as she moved. She was about the same height as the weapon he thought, a little taller perhaps, and she walked with the same fighters grace.

A golden star in the crush.

Curiosity pulled at him, guiding his feet as he cut a path towards her through the crush. He didn’t subscribe to the prudish mores of the new Kree. In the golden times if an unmated Kree’s blood was up it was expected they would slake it with a willing partner. There was no shame in providing for the body’s needs after all, no more than there was in eating or breathing.

Ronan’s blood was rising by the moment, the sweet wine and stirring music pulling at him as he put himself in her way. Pulse quickening as she greeted him by name.

“You have me at a disadvantage, my lady,” he bowed, “you know me and I yet I can’t seem to place you.”

It was not entirely unexpected, his costume was not so disguising as hers. He peered closer but to no avail, covered as she was in so much filigree and silk. He had met so many of the Kree Elite over the years it was impossible to recall them all, she was obviously high born but from which family he couldn’t tell.

“Oh,” she seemed flustered as she looked up at him, averting her gaze respectfully when he smiled, “there are… there are few who wouldn’t recognise the  _ great _ Ronan the Accuser. You’re something of a... legend.”

“You flatter me,” he claimed her hand, raising it to his lips formally, “I am only doing what any righteous Kree would for his Empire.”

There was a time perhaps he might have passed over her for a more palatable conquest, a rich blue daughter of the highest level, but that was long ago. He recognised now that strength was strength and kree were kree. 

And beauty was undeniable in any form.

Her eyes were wide behind her mask, pale skin showing her blushes like a painting as he kept her hand close to him. Her skin was warm, an electric current racing through his veins as he used the crush as an excuse to draw her nearer still.

“Won’t you tell me your name,” he asked, lowering his head towards her, “lovely one?”

“I-” her voice was hushed, breathy, a tremble running through her that made his pulse stutter, even her accent was exotic in comparison to those around her, from a border planet perhaps. When she looked up it was with defiance sparking in her eyes, “I kinda think that would defeat the purpose of a masquerade, don’t you?”

His instincts roared, a smirk twitching the corner of his mouth as he traced his thumb over the back of her hand. Beautiful  _ and _ sharp, she would be perfect for the night.

 

—-

 

This was not happening.

It could  _ not _ be happening.

She had run straight from the frying pan into the fucking fire, her heart giving up entirely and jumping ship as Ronan loomed over her.

Power had rushed beneath her skin, panic making her tense as she faced him, certain her cover was blown and that the only way out of this was violence. 

Then he’d bent over her hand, lips soft and warm as he’d pressed them to her knuckles and asked her name. No punching, no yelling.  He didn’t know who she was, which was great, but it came at an unexpectedly heavy cost.

Ronan the Accuser was hitting on her.

_ Her. _

Of all the ways the night could have gone this had never even been on the table. 

“A dance then,” it was less a question than an assumption, her hand still trapped in his as he pulled her towards the floor. So tall she would have to strain her neck to look him in the eye, not that she wanted to do that of course, she was having a hard enough time trying to keep it together already.

“Forgive the interruption,” a smooth voice cut in, her stomach clenching as it rocked through her, echoing right down to her core, “but I believe the lady has promised the next dance to me.”

If there was a god, any god on any planet, they would mercy kill her now. Just yank the flagstones right out from under her feet and let the ground swallow her whole.

“Has she now?” Ronan raised a brow, towering over Yon as he kept her close to his side. Yon didn’t blink, mouth curling in a placid smile as he met Ronan’s gaze evenly. 

She could blast them both in a heartbeat if she didn’t have her stupid cover to keep. Blow up the banquet table and just fly straight out of dodge. 

Talos would understand, wouldn’t he? And all those frightened, hidden Skrulls whose lives she’d thrown away… would they understand too?

“She has,” golden eyes landed on her, steady and uncompromising, “haven’t you, my lady?”

There was no winning here, no easy answers or quick escapes.

Carol Danvers was totally and completely fucked and it wasn’t even ten thirty yet. 

 

—-

 

“Did you think I wouldn’t recognise you, Vers?” He kept his voice low, bent close to her ear as he pulled her onto the dance floor.

Every breath was a struggle, his chest so tight he thought his lungs might burst. It hurt. Seeing her,  _ touching  _ her, it awakened an ache in him so deep he didn’t know if he could escape it.

He was holding her too tightly, unable to loosen his grip as the orchestra struck up anew. A wistful music box song that set his teeth on edge as it played, almost unbearably soft as he pulled her into his arms.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.” She met his gaze defiantly, only the unsteady beat of her pulse in her throat betraying her as she looked up at him, “we really gonna fight this out now?”

It was like waking up after an endless dream, sensation unfurling across his skin as his fingers found her waist, his other hand holding tight to hers. 

“You know violence is forbidden at the Ver’ul Seida,” he said, the silk he had so thoroughly cursed for not being armour becoming a cruel delight. It amplified every brush of their bodies into a slick caress as they fell into the slow, steady beat, “Unless of course that’s what you came for?”

“Maybe I just missed the food.” She replied, eyes flashing as she missed a step and almost stumbled.

“Left foot back, Vers,” he corrected, pulling her ever closer. She smelt like Lyan fruit and shuttle fuel, like  _ home _ , “then right, then turn. You never were particularly good at subtlety.”

“Could you maybe save the bitching for a minute?” She muttered, her pulse racing beneath his fingers. Perfectly in sync with his own, “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“You were never good at following orders either.”

She snorted, a bitter little laugh as they turned in careful circles, “and here’s me thinking that was why you liked me.”

It was too much. 

The reminder of their past, his affection, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her closer, dragging her into him until he could feel every inch of her body pressed tight to his as he whispered, “ _ why are you here?” _

“Why are you?” She replied, heat rising between them as she fell into step at last, the hand she’d pressed against his shoulder clenched tight enough to bruise, “finally come to snag that rich  _ wife,  _ Yon?”

How could she ask that? How could she not  _ know? _

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, pulling back enough to look at her again, “I’m taken.”

“Yeah yeah, by the  _ mission,”  _ her eyes were cruel as they met his, cheeks flushed in the candlelight, “how’s that working out for you,  _ commander _ ?”

He dipped her suddenly, feeling the thrill of her power burning into him as he pressed close enough he could count her eyelashes, “it was never the mission, Vers.”

She froze, hands slack as he pulled them upright again and back into the dance. 

“Then who?” Her eyes were wary, stunned and still as he led them through the motions.

She didn’t understand, she never had, and he, the  _ good commander _ that he was, had never enlightened her. Never told her what it really meant that her veins pulsed with his blood, his  _ soul _ . She was under his command and that meant it was his duty to protect her. Even from himself. 

A vow that had seen him holding himself back for years, punishing himself for every slip he made. And he had made a lot. Serving penitence for every time he held her too close or lingered too long, every time his eyes turned to her with more than just friendly affection.

Which was all too often. 

He still remembered with perfect clarity the way her breath would catch when they sparred. The smell of her hair as he pinned her to the floor, the warmth of her in his arms when he’d taught her to dance. What a foolish desire  _ that _ had been. He had suggested it for her own good he’d told himself even as his craven body  _ ached  _ for her. 

How many hours had he lost to the fantasies? Visions of her smile, her voice, her  _ touch. _

And now… now here they were again. And she wasn’t under his command any more, he had been stripped of his rank as thoroughly as she had turned her back on hers. They were equal in the eyes of gods and men alike now and there was nothing to stop him from claiming her as the old laws dictated.

As his blood demanded.

His thumb traced the veins of her wrist, strong and blue beneath the delicate skin.  _ His. _

“You haven’t told me why you’re here yet.” he replied instead, hearing her breath hitch at the gentle caress and sinking into it. The touch was too soft for them really, like the song, they had always been fists and teeth.

“You’re not the reason, Yon,” the sound of his name weakened him, heat surging in his chest in a desperate rush. He hated her for leaving him, for turning her back on everything they had worked for, everything they could have had, and yet he craved her still.

“Is Ronan?” 

He had never known such bitterness as when the Accuser had confronted her, his knee-jerk terror of her discovery turning quickly into something worse. 

Something far more insidious. 

Ronan has bowed over her hand, dark eyes flashing as he murmured quiet words to her and he had lost his reason entirely. Consumed by a jealousy that cut him to the core as he pushed his way through the crowd. 

It was like a knife to his stomach, the thought that he had been so long without her and now  _ Ronan _ of all people thought he could take her from him. 

“What - you think I’m here for  _ Ronan?”  _ Vindication clenched tightly in his belly at the look of horror on her face, “hell no. I’m not here for anyone. I just need to… get… something. No violence needed, no drama, just let me go and I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

“No,” he breathed, trailing his fingers up the bare skin of her arm and feeling her tremble, “never again.”

 

—-

 

Carol’s head was spinning, the music crawling up her spine and into her veins. A bittersweet melody that echoed inside of her as Yon led her across the floor.

It was a dream, a fantasy, a  _ nightmare _ .

A world of twisted faces and pretty colours she couldn’t escape from. They surrounded her, stealing the oxygen from her lungs as they pressed in from all sides, and in the centre of it all was  _ him. _

It felt right in the sickest way. He had been her lodestone after all, her northstar for six long years, of course he would become her anchor in this too. A familiar face in a world of strangers as they turned again and again.

But he was the stranger now. This man with his unknown motives and unknown  _ other.  _

_ It was never about the mission. _

Her tongue stuck to her teeth, pulse thrashing like a rabbit in a trap as she met burning yellow eyes. She didn’t understand him. She  _ couldn’t _ . His words and actions twisting in her head as he held her hostage in his arms. Why save her from Ronan then refuse to let her go? Why drop a bombshell about being  _ taken  _ and then look at her like he wanted too… like he was going too…

She didn’t get it.

And it  _ infuriated _ her.

“I’ve broken your chains before,” she held her breath, unbearably tense in the never ending whirl, “I’ll do it again.”

The music died at last, her heart pounding in her ears in the sudden hush as she fought to keep the fire beneath her skin. It wanted out, wanted to flare and burn and sweep away the uncertainty with action.

With violence.

Every inch of her control was exhausted as she looked at Yon from far too close. She needed answers more than she needed air, she needed certainty. 

_ She needed _ .

“I believe the next dance is mine,” a deep voice cut between them, jarring her back into the moment as she remembered the crowds around them. As she remembered herself.

Her  _ mission. _

Chest aching she turned away, the pain embedded so deep she didn’t think she’d ever be free of it as she looked up and up at Ronan. The band struck up another song, a formal dance where the partners would pass down the line. A terse glance showed that Hanahr would be dancing it too.

This was her chance. Maybe her only one.

“Of course, my Lord,” she forced a smile, pulling her hand from Yon’s and offering it to Ronan even as it made something in her chest twist and bleed. “Lead on.”

  
  



	4. Fool and King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! Fingers crossed I can get this finished in time for Monday aka the birthday of the most supreme and lovely Densehumboldt 💜
> 
> Thank you so much as always to the Yonvers fam for reading and commenting, you are the best of people! 💜

 

 

So the disgraced commander thought he could steal Ronan’s conquest for himself, did he? 

_ Fine. _

Ronan was not averse to a little competition, even if it was hardly a fair match.There was no comparison between them, in all honestly there never had been. Time had proven Yon Rogg more and more unworthy; unworthy of wearing the uniform, unworthy of being given charge of the weapon, unworthy of it all.

No, she should have been with someone  _ stronger  _ from the start _ ,  _ someone who could have moulded her properly.  Under his tutelage, Ronan could have shown her the true glory of the Kree. Instilled in her their ancient laws and traditions and shaped her into a vision of absolute justice, shown her a legacy that had existed long before the supreme intelligence had found them and would burn brightly long after it had passed.

She had been wasted on Yon Rogg, and now another woman was being wasted on him as well.

Circling the edge of the room he watched them together, noting the tension in her spine and the sharpness in her gaze. The way she froze as he took liberties that were hardly befitting his status, holding her too closely. Too  _ intimately _ .

His supposition that the strange beauty had not approved of Rogg’s actions was proven when she met Ronan’s own advance with a welcoming smile and a ready hand, gaze flickering back warily as if she were glad to be rid of the  _ ex- _ commander. 

He couldn’t blame her. Someone so obviously well bred deserved better than a fallen foot soldier.

“You dance well,” he complimented her as they took their place, holding her just slightly closer than was proper. She had a warmth to her he found he rather liked, a static sort of rush like there was power burning just beneath her skin, “even if the same could not be said of your partner.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied with another smile, eyes ducked away. 

Each demural just made him more determined to win her favour. He found himself desperately curious as how she might appear beneath the mask. How her lips might taste under his, how all that supple flesh might look when she revealed herself to him fully...

The music started in earnest, dragging him back to the moment as they met hands at the centre of the procession. The dance was designed to tease the senses, the push and pull of them as they crossed the floor. It stoked his basest instincts, the primal urge to claim her rising as they circled each other. It was a delicious torture, the whisper of silk against his thigh, a stolen glance through the holes in her mask, the warmth of her skin as they touched and parted like the tide.

“You are too generous to waste your favours on the likes of him,” he said against her ear when the dance brought them together again, his arm snaking around her waist and holding firm as his blood rose hot inside of him, “he is not worthy of them.”

“It’s a good thing then that you…  _ rescued _ me when you did,” she said, flustered in his arms, her breath catching every time he drew her nearer. 

“It was my duty,” he murmured back, “and my  _ pleasure.  _ There is no man in here who would do otherwise, you are by far the fairest creature in the room.”

“Now  _ you _ are flattering  _ me _ ,” she accused him, smiling with sharp white teeth. A dangerous smile, challenging and delicious. The urge to push for more rose inside of him even as the dance parted them again, sending them in different directions as he stalked her with his eyes.

He had chosen well this night, determined her pleasure would be so great she would never even  _ think _ of smiling at another afterwards. Especially not one so low as Yon Rogg.

 

—-

 

The whole situation was too bizarre.

Carol’s heart was still pounding with Yon’s words, the space between her shoulder blades itching with the feeling of his eyes even now.

Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ She hadn’t signed up for this. Any of it. Not the pain she felt at seeing him again, the surging wave of desire she thought she’d crushed, the way that even after everything that had happened her traitorous blood had heated in her veins until she thought she’d explode from it.

She certainly hadn’t signed up for  _ Ronan the fucking Accuser  _ whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he led them through the dance. He was ungodly tall, blocking out everything else as he crowded her, her head spinning with the scent of ancient herbs and fine leather as she tried to sort herself out.

The mission.

This was all about the mission.

The rows finally parted, the dance sending her down the set at last. She touched wrists to each of the men who met her. A hare and a warrior, a knight and a king. Her jaw clenched as she came upon the Minister at last. His face sweaty behind his twisted green half mask, paunch straining at his doublet.

Smiling as sweetly as she could she met his hand with hers, wincing at the clammy skin as she very carefully and very deliberately stumbled. It took a split second to do, lifting the file from his pocket and replacing it with her own in a motion she had practiced for a week beforehand with Talos.

Talos. That was the reason she was doing this. Him and Soren and Indes and little future-Carol. 

She couldn’t let herself fall into whatever web Yon was spinning, or spend too long under Ronan’s heated gaze, she had to get out.

“My apologies, my lord,” she said breathlessly, slipping back into the set, “too much Silean Wine.”

“Not at all good lady,” Hanahr laughed, as if he wasn’t responsible for aiding a genocide, “its potent stuff!”

Smiling through gritted teeth she let herself be led down the procession again, the slim datafile sitting heavily against her wrist where she’d locked it into her bracelet. A thousand-thousand souls weighing her down as she forced herself through the rest of the dance.

God it would be so much better if she could just blast them all and have done with it.

Ronan was waiting, his eyes as bright and hard as amethysts, sparking with sharp edges as he caught her waist again. Pulling her closer in a dangerous game.

It was definitely way past time to leave.

She waited until the final few bars before making her move, stumbling again like a fluttery old fashioned maiden in those period dramas Monica used to make her watch. She made a show of fanning herself, hoping her acting was better than it used to be as she leant against Ronan’s arm.

There was a reason she’d been cast as a tree in every school play she’d been a part of.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, an icy sort of awareness crawling beneath her skin as she looked up at him and found him watching. Hawklike and  _ hungry,  _ “I’m feeling a bit light headed, I better go… go get some air for a minute.”

“I will escort you,” his brow furrowed, grip hard as steel as he tried to lead her from the floor. She didn’t have to act then, her all too genuine distress seeping through as she pulled herself away. 

“No,  _ no _ !” She held up a hand, forcing herself to smile through the panic, “stay and… uh... enjoy the music, my lord, it will pass soon, I’m sure. I will be back before you know it.”

Like  _ hell _ she would.

“Do not stray too far, lovely one,” he demanded as she backed away, eyes burning as they met hers, “we are not finished for the night, I think.”

“Of course,” she said through the lump in her throat, “until later.”

She didn’t wait for a response, turning tail and fleeing like an absolute coward. She wasn’t even ashamed of it, she was too desperate to get out. The dress pulled at her, the crowd a heaving mass that seemed to grow denser the harder she pushed. 

She needed to get outside. She needed to get the file sent to Soren. She needed to  _ breathe. _

When she finally made it to the edge of the ballroom her chest was burning, lungs screaming for air as she ducked out of the side door and into the ornamental gardens. There were fewer people here thank God, she passed a couple locked in an intense make out session and headed straight for the hills. There was a copse of trees on the other side of the garden, hidden behind the hedge maze. She should be safe there to transfer the data.

She didn’t know if he would follow her. If  _ Yon  _ would. Her stomach twisted and turned at the thought, the memory of his hands on her waist, yellow eyes piercing into her. It was the way he looked at her, like he could see through all the bullshit straight down into the centre of her being.

Like he could see the real her. The person even she didn’t know anymore.

Swallowing the thought she picked up her speed, pulling the file out with shaking fingers and clicking it open as she triggered the scanner in her mask. The light flashed in the corner of her vision, welcoming her as she held up the file and prayed the signal would hold.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, trapped in the thundering pulse of her blood in her ears as she ran. The processing bar filling up a millimeter at a time. By the time she’d made it to the trees, it was at 90% and she was on the edge of a mental breakdown. 

“ _ Vers _ !”

The voice cut through her, a hand grabbing her arm and making her stumble. She pulled against it, lungs swelling as she tried to keep steady. Tried to keep the file level. 

Her mask beeped and she shuddered, relief crushing her as the scanner shut down. The file was sent. Her job was  _ done. _

Just in time.

She turned, heart jumping painfully in her throat as Yon caught up with her. Gold glowed through the eyes of his mask, the skull laughing at her even as his mouth thinned to a hard line.

“Did you really think I’d let you leave again?” 

A girl could hope, couldn’t she?  She really didn’t want to have to fight him tonight, but then again he wasn’t exactly giving her much of a choice.

Carol eyed up the landscape measuring the distance from where they stood to the back of the palace in a glance. It was too close, they would be invisible to the revellers right up until the moment she lit her fists.

“Fine,” she sighed, crushing the file in her hand and squaring her shoulders, “guess we’re gonna have to do this the old fashioned way.”

She didn’t wait for him to strike, weapons were forbidden at the dance but she knew that wasn’t a reason to underestimate him. The best way to neutralise Yon had always been to do it quick and fast, if she gave him an inch he’d overpower her and she’d have no choice but to blow her cover.

Her first hit caught him the ribs, fist hitting muscle and slipping off the silk. He grunted, ducking as she aimed a kick at his sternum, trying to throw him off balance long enough to get away.

It would have worked too if her skirt hadn’t tangled. The traitorous fabric twisting around her ankles and jerking her off her feet and straight into him.

“Oh  _ come on _ ,” she panted as he caught her easily around the waist, pressing his advantage and shoving her back into a tree.

“You haven’t been training enough, Vers.” He smirked, face alight in the darkness as he pinned her wrists at her sides.

“You try fighting in this dress,” she shot back, mind whirring as she tried to figure how to break his hold without using her powers. Her brain was fuzzy with the remnants of Silean wine and the smell of him, clean soap and that woody aftershave he always used. 

“It suits you far better than it would me,” he was close. Way too close. Rough bark scraped into her spine as he filled the world around her. Absolute warmth in the chill night air.

“You’re too late, Yon,” she said, unforgivably breathless as he pressed into her space, “I did what I came too. It’s… over now.”

“Oh no, it is far from over,” he shook his head, fingers tracing over her wrists, his heat spreading through her veins to settle low in her belly, “it has only just begun, Vers.”

_ Vers _ .

Her heart twisted as reality caught up to her, an icy flood that slapped her to her senses.

That name, _her_ name, she couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t bear the way he whispered it and she was suddenly back there again.  An eager recruit desperate for his approval, yearning for every little exasperated half-smile she could win from him. The ones he saved  _ just _ for her.

She wasn’t that person anymore.

“Vers is dead,” she said coldly, wrenching her wrists free from his grip at last and shoving at his shoulders, “worse, she never existed. You made her up, Yon, you are your  _ machine.  _ My name is Carol Danvers and trust me, you don’t know a  _ thing  _ about me.”

“I know  _ everything  _ about you,” he growled, pushing back as something dark and demanding coloured his features, “I know what face you make when you’re planning something, the noise you make when you’re  impatient . I know the beat of your heart in the triumph of battle, and the way your breath hitches when your blood rises and you  _ want.”  _ His fingers dragged along the length of her neck, her traitorous heart turning over at the touch, “just… like…  _ this _ .”

She could taste her pulse on her tongue, adrenaline shooting through her with the awareness of his hand at her throat. His fingers tightened ever so slightly, a domineering hint of pressure that had her thighs clenching despite herself.  She could stop him in a heartbeat, destroy him completely, but she  _ didn’t.  _ His point proven by the ragged stutter of her breath as he brushed his mouth over the curve of her cheekbone, teeth scraping over her earlobe with a low growl.

Shed always secretly liked it when Yon went into commander mode, dominant and strong, it made it more of a challenge for her. Every time she made him break from it becoming even sweeter.

But this wasn’t Yon.

At least not the man she knew, the one she’d studied under, the one she’d defeated on earth. He’d been steadfast, the absolute master of his emotions as he pushed his team to their best.

Pushed her to  _ her _ best.

This… this was another creature entirely. She didn’t know what had happened since she’d left, what had led him here to the sort of place he hated and dressed him in clothes she knew he despised, but it had changed him. The hard shell of the commander had broken, chipping away and showing the man beneath.

Teeth and claws and  _ passion. _

“What happened to you?” She heard herself ask in the echoing stillness, her hands clenched tight against his shoulders. Torn between shoving him away and pulling him closer even now.

“You did,” he murmured against the shell of her ear, his grip softening, thumb working back and forth against the line of her collarbone in a rhythmic caress, “you sent me back here empty handed, Vers. I lost everything, my rank, my purpose,  _ you _ .”

  
  
  



	5. Think of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super early update on this most celebrated of days! 😍 Happy Birthday DenseHumboldt my love - have half of a sandwich! 💜
> 
> (Also so sorry I’m being slow replying to comments today, they are everything to me and I will TOTALLY be hitting you all up later to express my love!)

 

It was like the dam had broken at last. The final threads of his self control burnt away into ashes as he crowded her space.

_ Three years. _

Three  _ endless  _ years without purpose, a disgraced warrior not fit to clean a rookie’s boots. He had become nothing in her wake, a shadow of his former self trapped haunting an old house in an old district on a dead world. Left there to rot.

He had slipped into a sort of madness without even realising it. It was only now, seeing her again, that he realised the true depths of his desperation. For the first time since she’d left him he felt alive again and he couldn’t bring himself to let it end.

That was why he leant closer, drowning in the feeling of her skin against his until they were perfectly aligned. At the mercy of the moons above as he breathed her in, nothing but silk and memories between them now.

“What are you doing, Yon?” She asked in a low husk, the swell of her breasts pressing against him with each ragged breath. The sweetest torment he could devise as she melted willingly against him.

“Only what I should have done a lifetime ago,” he murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers over her shoulders, her arms, her waist, “claiming what’s mine.”

He knew her body, knew every inch of it like his own, he’d trained it, strengthened it, but he had never worshipped it before. 

Not as he longed too.

“I’m not yours,” her voice betrayed her, trembling as she pressed her hands flat against his chest, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. Curling into him even now, “you… you have…”

“ _ You _ ,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin just beneath her ear, “it has always been you. Come back to me, Vers.”

She froze, a statue in his arms. Leaving him cold as she pushed him away at last, hard, like she meant it.

He let her, heart in his mouth as he struggled to think through the loss of sensation.

“How can you ask me that?” She asked, eyes bright and  _ hurt _ , “After what the SI did to me, after… after what  _ you  _ did to me.”

“I believed it was for the best,” he said, unable to give her anything but honesty after so many lies, “I thought I was helping you.”

“By lying to me? By training me to kill  _ innocents?  _ You used me.”

The words stripped him of his skin, all his good intentions turning to dust under her tongue. He had wanted the best for her, for their people, but now it had all become ash and blood and  _ disappointment. _

And yet he wanted her still.  _ Needed _ her, a taught desperation coiling inside of him as he reached his hand towards her. 

“I  _ love  _ you.” He breathed, torn between a shout and a whisper as he tried to make her understand with the force of his willpower alone, “Damnit Vers, I gave you my  _ blood _ . My soul. Do you even know what that means?”

“I don’t care what it means.” She slapped his hand away, the night sky perfectly reflected in the wet sheen of her eyes, “I really don’t. I don’t want to be the bad guy anymore Yon, I want to _help_ people _,_ actually help them this time. It doesn’t matter how I feel about you, that won’t change.”

How she felt… how she…

Hope and anguish took turns in his chest, a vice grip of desperation as he met her gaze. So intent he could barely draw breath as he faced the confession he’d made. And the answer she hadn’t given.

_ Yet. _

“How  _ do _ you feel?” He asked in the echoing silence.

This was worse than any battlefield, any fire fight, back then the worst outcome had been death. This… this was infinitely more dangerous.

“Don’t ask me that.” She whispered, her throat working as she swallowed tightly, “don’t make this harder. This isn’t a fairytale, Yon, too much has happened. We don’t get to just kiss and live happily ever after.”

“ _ Why not? _ ”

The desperation caught, sparking like a match to tinder as he caught her face between his hands. Crossing the final barrier left between them and kissing her with everything he had.

All the hate, the despair, the anguish and hope and  _ love. _

He poured it into her, slipping into the warm heat of her mouth when she gasped against him. She tasted of flowers, of fruit and the faint buzz of alcohol, sweetness itself as he lapped at her tongue.

This was it, his last chance at everything. If she pushed him away now he didn’t know if he could survive it.

 

—-

  
  


Carol’s head was spinning, Yon’s arms the only thing keeping her steady as he kissed her like a dying man.

How long had she wished for this? How many countless sparring sessions had she secretly yearned for him to do just this, cross the final line and take her whole. She had yearned for it,  _ dreamt  _ of it, fuelled her fantasies on the outline of his lips and the memory of his touch.

On Halas she had lost everything and found him, he gave her purpose,  _ life,  _ a reason to keep breathing when all her memories were lost in smoke.

She’d never felt broken when she was with him.

Until now.

His touch found her fault lines, splintering her down the centre as she held onto him so tightly she knew she’d leave bruises. She was _at_ _least_ three different women at once, a kaleidoscope of different people she was trying to burn away with his touch. 

He eagerly complied, a groan echoing from his ribs to hers as she pushed into him. She welcomed his every advance, moaning shamelessly when his thigh slipped between hers. A delicious friction that mimicked the rhythm of his tongue, a wet, heated thrust that pulsed all the way down to her core.  

It wasn’t a fairytale. It couldn’t end well. But she kissed him anyway, her mask catching on his and making her swear.

She pulled back, heart beating like an engine as she reached for the fastening and tossed it to the ground. Yon echoed her, the grinning skull falling away and leaving the man behind.

He looked older than she expected, the realisation shocking her. Three years was nothing to a kree, not enough to explain the deep circles below his eyes. A new tiredness to him that was echoed in the marks that creased his brow.

But his eyes… his eyes  _ glowed. _

She wanted more, more passion, more burning. She wanted him to sear the doubts right out of her head but instead he touched her carefully _ , reverently,  _ his thumbs brushing across her temples, her cheekbones. Hands sliding back to cup her neck as he bent towards her, forehead pressed to hers.

It was too much for her, she could feel his heart like her own inside her chest. Shutting her eyes as they stood there sharing breath, the air heavy with everything unspoken between them. 

He’d told her he loved her.

He told her…

He...

“I have missed you more than you could ever imagine,” he whispered against her skin, making her chest ache.

“I don’t even know if this is real,” she traced her fingers through the soft fabric of his shirt. Over the thick embroidery to the place she knew his heart was beating, “I don’t know if I want it to be. The things we did Yon…”

“We helped people,” he replied, uncertainty breaking his voice as he curled his fingers in her hair, “it was our mission to help people.”

“We didn’t,” she sighed, “We destroyed their homes, their cultures, we murdered innocents in the name of the SI. We hunted a dying race like it was our duty.”

“They were our enemy.”

“They weren’t,” she shook her head, clutching tighter at his tunic as she breathed his words in and exhaled her own, “They were just trying to survive. You saw that Yon, the Skrulls on that ship… they weren’t battle hardened warriors. They were  _ civilians.  _ Women and children, and our orders were to kill them all. It wasn’t right.”

“I don’t know what’s right anymore, Vers,” he admitted, adding fresh bruises to her hips as he pulled her close, “except for this.”

He kissed her again, slowly this time. Carefully. As if he could fix what he’d broken in her with each soothing brush of his mouth against hers. It was a new kind of desperation, his hesitance even more devastating than his passion had been.

That had obliterated, this… this  _ grew.  _ A slow spreading fire that seemed to stretch over every nerve and muscle, awakening new depths of sensation with every careful touch.

“What did you mean?” She murmured as they parted for air, his mouth trailing down to the sweet spot beneath her ear, “about… about loving me. About being  _ married _ .”

“Married is the wrong word,” his fingers brushed against her, tracing the thin straps of her dress. The pads of his fingertips calloused against the silk as he drew them up and down along the flimsy material, “taken is better,  _ bonded.  _ For me there is only you, there will only ever be you.”

“Is this… is this just the blood then?” she asked, heart aching even as her body sung. Certain that something would snatch the moment away from her even now, even though she knew she shouldn’t be holding so tight to it in the first place.

“No, the bond can take as many forms as the people who share them, a familial connection, a mutual admiration. It only binds what’s already there,  _ strengthens _ it. This is  _ us _ .”

“You never said a word,” she felt herself caving at his words, falling into him like a river and his hands slid further down, hot through the flimsy fabric of her dress as his thumb traced the curve of her breast. A slow, deliberate touch as he kissed the corner of her mouth.

“I couldn’t,” he sighed, meeting her gaze again. The gold in his eyes swallowed by the black of his pupils,  “I couldn’t project my own desires onto you. You were under my command, no matter how much I wanted you, that had to come first.”

“And did you?” She asked, sliding her hands across the sensuous fabric at his shoulders and over the familiar strength of his arms, emboldened by every desperate confession he made, “ _ want me _ ?”

This was madness, absolute sheer fucking madness, and she wouldn’t stop for the world. The mighty Yon Rogg trembling under her hands as she traced the lines of him, all those years of secret glances and sweaty dreams coming true beneath her fingertips.

“So much so it nearly destroyed me,” he shuddered, palming her breast and making her arch against him, “I went to sleep every night for six years aching for you, waking up every morning with your name on my lips, Vers.”

The sensation nearly undid her, a lightning burn of pleasure shooting straight to her core as he pushed the strap of her dress off her shoulder, exposing her to the night air. The chill lasted a second, replaced immediately by the rough heat of his hand as he teased his fingers over her hyper sensitive skin.

“Not my name,” she clenched her fingers against his ribs as he rolled the tight bud of her nipple between his fingers, breathing hard as she fought to get the words out, “Carol. My name is Carol.”

“ _ Vers- _ ”

“Say it,” she could feel the taut line of his stomach beneath her palms, electricity replacing the blood in her veins as she looked up at him, “Yon, please.”

She couldn’t explain how much she needed to hear it, how she needed him to accept who she was  _ now _ . He could love Vers for a thousand years but it couldn’t ever truly mean anything unless he loved Carol too.

“Carol,” he groaned, his free hand slipping from her waist to her back. Smoothing down over her rear as he tugged her close, so tight she could feel his hardness jutting against the soft curve of her belly, “Carol Danvers. Captain Carol Danvers.  _ Beloved _ .”

The fire grew, burning brightly inside her at the sound of her true name on his lips. 

“I like the sound of that,” she said, shuddering as she committed to what was probably a very stupid, but incredibly right, decision, “I’d like it even more if you took your pants off.”

“Carol-” his eyes widened, lips parting as he stared at her in shock.

“Hey,” she shrugged, the last of her doubts burnt away as she reached for his waistband, “you started it.”

 

 


	6. Queen and Priest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd we’re here! The final chapter (excluding epilogue ofc) I really hope you enjoy it my lovelies! 🥰

 

He was dreaming.

There was no other explanation for it, no possible reason he could be worthy of such bliss otherwise. Her eyes had turned wicked, the corner of her mouth curled up in a cat-like smile as she ran her fingers slowly over the fall of his trousers.

The touch was light, a painfully brief brush of contact as she worked them up and down the length of him. He ached with the sensation, his whole body tense with it as lightning coiled in his belly. His mind unravelling further with each touch.

“Well?” She asked, tilting her head impishly, “I mean it  _ feels  _ like you’re into it…”

Dream or not, he would not let this moment go again. Hunger tightened in his veins as he answered her in a growl.

“Oh I am  _ very  _ into it,” his voice was low in his chest as he pushed her backwards. Pressing her flush against the tree behind her and kissing her with a fervour he felt all the way down to his bones. “Although I admit I didn’t think our first coupling would be so public.”

“Think of it often, did you?” She teased, looping her arms around his neck and sliding her fingers into his hair. 

“More than you’ll ever know,” he promised, hands bunching in the silk of her skirt. Shucking it up around her waist until she could wrap her thighs around him. “Every time we sparred, every time you came to my door in the middle of the night, I have fantasized about taking you every way known to man, Vers. Although I had intended our first time to be done properly.”

“Feels plenty proper to me” she grinned, pressing herself flush to him as she bracketed his hips with her thighs, “besides, I don’t really want to wait any longer, do you?”

Her cheeks were flushed in the moonlight, the blush spreading down her neck to where her breasts had spilt free from their confines. He lowered his mouth to the exposed flesh, slicking his tongue across the taut bud of her nipple before taking it gently between his teeth.

He felt her gasp, the vibration caressing his spine like velvet as she clenched around him. The wet heat of her sex had soaked through the flimsy silk still separating them, his hips jerking at the sensation as she ground against him. 

“I’ll… I’ll take that as a no,” she moaned, the muscles in her thigh twitching as she reached clumsily between their bodies again. She tugged at his waistband, a throaty little laugh escaping her as she tried to work the fastening loose, “who even designed this thing?”

“Whoever they are I will destroy them personally for the inconvenience,” he groaned, rocking into her touch. Every inadvertent brush of her fingers against him pulling him closer and closer to an edge he wasn’t ready to reach yet, “with my bare hands.”

“Your hands are busy,” she rested her head against his shoulder, teeth sinking lightly into the vulnerable skin of his throat as she worked, “the rest of you is too -  _ oh _ !”

The sound she made set his blood boiling, thundering desperately against his skin as she mewled against his pulse. Feeling the press of him against the thin silk as keenly as he did it as she released him at last. She panted, shock waves of pleasure racking his spine as she pulled her small clothes aside, her fingers sliding back up his chest as flesh met flesh.

“Are you sure?” He asked cursing himself for the words even as his body shuddered with need. It had consumed every part of him, a vine growing beneath his skin. Thorns and flowers as it over took everything else, leaving nothing unbound as he forced himself to stall his hips. Pressed tight against the slick skin of her innermost thigh as he waited for her permission.

She raised her head, eyes black as she pressed her forehead against his, “either you fuck me now or I’m going to blast you across this garden and finish the job by myself.”

“I think I’d like to see that.” He purred, basking in her impatience. In the knowledge that he’d done this, he was the cause of her pleasure. Her desire. A thousand-thousand fantasies paling in comparison to her glory.

“You’ll be unconscious _ ,”  _ she groaned, grinding slow circles with her hips against him as he held himself just out of reach, “of course I guess could always ask Rona- _ aaaah _ !”

He sank into her, the bastards name lost in a gasp of pleasure as he buried himself inside her. She was so perfectly ready for him, tight and wet and  _ his. _

_ Only his. _

“Vers,” he growled, the feeling racking through him in waves. It pulled taut against every nerve and sinew as he clenched his hands against her rear, “forget that name.”

“Make me,” she whispered, tongue snaking out to taste the swell of his lip. He caught it in his mouth, eager and aching as their bodies came together.

 

—-

 

The last time Carol Danvers had had sex in a field it was prom night 1985, it had been brief, awkward, and incredibly unsatisfying.

This was nothing like that at all.

Yon’s strength never wavered, holding her firm as he pressed her back into the rough bark of the tree. The coarse scratch of it against her skin made the pleasure even more intense as he worked inside her. Hard and male, filling her up like he was made for it and hitting every goddamn sweet spot on the way.

It was raw and rough and just a little bit uncomfortable and she couldn’t get enough of it. The sensation flooded her, filling her head with lightning until she could barely remember her own name, never mind anyone else’s. Only his.

_ Yon. _

She felt it with every thrust of his body, her face pressed into his neck as she tried to muffle her moans against his skin. Music drifted across the grounds on the cool night breeze, the distant sound of laughter teasing over her skin as they panted together. 

They could be discovered at any second, nothing but trees and topiary between them and the party. The danger curled inside her belly, a heated thrill that had her bucking even more desperately against him as a familiar tension began to notch at the base of her spine. 

“Mmm,” she hummed against his ear, tasting the salt of his skin as he deepened the angle and stars shuddered in her veins, “there - just like that. Yon, just like that.”

He obeyed, grunting into her hair as she clawed at him, not caring what mess she made of his costume as she yanked at the silk covering his back. 

The heat grew inside of her, a tight spiral of pleasure that had her shuddering as it crawled higher and higher. The sharp edged sensation teetering on the edge of painful as it shadowed her. She couldn’t help herself, a high pitched yelp escaping her throat as it crashed over her at last. An electric pulse of absolute ecstasy that threatened to break her as she came around him hard and fast.

Yon didn’t slow down, hips moving faster and faster as he worked into her throbbing core. Her name spilled from his lips in a desperate cry as he buried himself in her at last, holding her so tightly she didn’t know where he ended and she began as he spilt himself inside of her. A hot, primal pulse of sensation that had her gasping all over again.

“Vers,” he mumbled, a desperate pant against the shell of her ear as he pressed sloppy kisses to wherever he could reach. His hands clenched so tight she knew she’d be wearing his touch for days, “gods,  _ Vers _ .”

“ _ Agreed _ ,” She murmured with absolute feeling, stroking her fingers through the softness of his hair as the aftershocks of her pleasure shot through her. She wasn’t quite inside herself anymore, floating outside of her body as she spiralled back to earth.

His arms sagged, her legs fully jellified as she tried to hold herself upright.  

“Okay,” she smiled against his hair, “I think you can put me down.”

“I don’t want to,” he grumbled, pressing his mouth against her pulse in a heated kiss.

“Yeah well my ass is going numb so…”

 

—-

 

He complied at last, limbs heavy and sated as he lowered her to the ground. Smug satisfaction curling in his chest as she wobbled on her feet, breathing out a laugh as she had to steady herself against the tree.

“Here,” he reached for her, plucking a twig from her hair as she hauled her dress back into place. Smoothing her fingers over the rumpled silk.

“Nice,” she chuckled, “that’s just what I -  _ fuck.”  _ Her face paled, freezing as a faint buzzing sound echoed around her, “oh fuck.”

“What is it?” He asked, fastening his pants with lightning speed and reaching her. 

“I think we triggered my emergency beacon, oh this is not good, this is so not good,” she fumbled with the bust of her dress, pulling out a small golden disk, “I have to go.”

“No.”

“I  _ have _ to go,” she repeated as he pressed his palm to her cheek, needing the sensation as much as air now, “I’m not bringing Talos here to die.”

“Talos.” He froze, whole body tensing as she shrugged her shoulders. 

“Yeah, he’s my friend,” she said, fingers curling around his wrist where he held her still, “him and his wife are naming their next kid after me.”

His stomach clenched, hot waves of revulsion at her befriending them mixing with jealousy at their obvious intimacy. At the fact they got part of her life he had lost.

And guilt. He felt guilt too.

“Stay,” he wasn’t sure if he was demanding or begging, sliding his fingers in her rumpled hair, “send them away and stay here. With me.”

“I can’t,” her eyes creased, shining up at him as she shook her head, “I can’t stay here Yon, no matter… no matter what just happened between us, this isn’t my world anymore.”

“Damnit, I can  _ make _ it your world,” he growled, pulling her closer, “just do as your told for once in your life, Vers,  _ please.” _

The beacon buzzed again, more insistently this time. He would have crushed it if he could, scattered its pieces to the wind and dragged her home with him.

Indecision flooded him with the taste of desperation, burning low in his belly as she sucked in a sharp breath.

“Serra,” she said forcefully, eyes sharp as they met his, “planet D-49, Shelano Space Port. There’s a place there called Maleki’s Tavern, I’ll be there noon rise to sundown in five days time. Do you understand?”

“ _ Vers- _ ”

“In five days time Yon, if you… if you’re ready, if you really want to be with me, be there. Just you. Maleki’s Tavern, Shelano Space Port, Serra.”

“Planet D-49,” he finished for her.

She was leaving again.

She was leaving again and he couldn’t make her stop. Couldn’t make her stay.

He could only watch as she pulled herself from his arms. His whole body cold and hollow in her wake as she walked away from him.

She stopped at the edge of the tree line, more beautiful than he ever remembered seeing her. A pale flame even without her powers, strength and compassion intertwined as she looked back at him with aching eyes.

“I really hope you come,” she whispered, the night air carrying the words straight from her lips and into his bones, “I’ve missed you too.”

He didn’t have time to react, to go after her, it was too late. She’d turned and run, a pale flash in the darkness that disappeared all too fast. 

Five days.

He had five days to make his choice. To pick between his entire life with the Empire he knew and the gods he had followed, or  _ her _ .

It was barely a choice at all.

 


	7. Fool (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS IS THE EPILOGUE  
> if you haven’t read the last chapter yet go back now my lovelies!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented on this fic, it really does mean the world to me, and of course to DH for both inspiring it and being the absolute kindest and supportive friend a gal could ask for as I wrote it! This one is for you darling! 💜

 

 

It had been too long already.

Ronan had squired a few more ladies across the dance floor, as was his social duty, but it wasn’t the same. He couldn’t get the golden stranger from his mind.

She shone inside his head, a star in the crush. Bright and glowing as he tracked a path to the edge of the room. Perhaps she  _ wanted _ the chase, a clever plot to make him prove his interest in the chaos of the dance. 

Well, who was he to deny her.

Blood thundered in his ears, a heated tension growing low in his stomach as he pushed out into the darkness to begin his hunt.

His eyes scanned the gardens, pausing over every shadowed figure. Couples spread throughout the ornate topiary, walking, flirting, locked in passionate embraces as they pawed and groaned desperately at each other. The soft sound of moaning flooded his senses, raising his blood as he stalked past them.

Would she make the same noise? He pictured the throaty little gasp of desire, the desperate mewl, imagining ever delicious sound he could tease from her body. A musician at his instrument. 

The heat grew, burning hotter and hotter as he groaned low in his throat. The hunt stretching his patience to the limit.

She had to be out here somewhere, lost perhaps in the trees. Waiting for him. Something caught his eye as the moved deeper into the night, gleaming gold in the dirt. 

Her mask.

He picked it up carefully, reverentially, the filigree seeming more delicate than ever in his hands as he examined it. Confusion creased his brow as he traced his fingers over the inner curve.

A light blinked, the flickering blue of tech. Holding it up to his eyes he looked through it and found a code running. Simple and untraceable, some sort of transmitting device perhaps.

_ Iris scan failed,  _ it flashed across his eye,  _ try again, Captain. _

Captain?

The display blinked again, a familiar eight pointed star wiping the text away before the light shut off.

The star.

_ Her star. _

Captain Marvel. That’s what they called her across the universe. His heart stuttered, chest clenching hot and hard as he fought the urge to crush the mask in his hands. The golden hair, the delicate features. The dark eyes he’d compared so well to the Weapon’s.

She didn’t just look like his prey, she  _ was  _ her. He had had it all, holding everything he had been searching for in his arms, whispering low in her ear and indulging in her smiles. The memories twisted behind his eyes, taking new edges. Sharp and hot as he replayed the feeling of her skin against his, her breathy laugh and flashing eyes.

Why had she been here? Why now?

Had the son of Rogg recognised her? Was that why she was so eager to escape his dance? 

_ Where was she now? _

Clenching the mask to his chest Ronan turned away, burning with quiet fury. His failures aside he had a clue now, a  _ beginning. _

One way or another, he would find her again.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed the story! Please consider leaving a little comment if you did, even a single word gives me the motivation to keep writing 💜


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